


No One Can Protect Anyone

by butteredflame



Series: asoiaf drabbles [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crack, Gen, Hurt!Jon, Hurt/Comfort, is that even a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butteredflame/pseuds/butteredflame
Summary: Drabble for "Meet Me at Winterfell".





	No One Can Protect Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> Not actually a drabble I guess, since it’s a little over 1000 words. Bahaha

“No one can protect anyone.” 

On her way out, the echo of Sansa’s shoes punctuated her ire. When the door closed behind her, Jon sank into his seat. A wave of nausea pulsed in his gut, but with deep breaths he calmed his body’s odd ways of coping with renewed life. Thumbing the edge of the parchment, Jon considered Ramsay Bolton’s vile demands once more. 

_No one can protect anyone._

Perhaps she was right.

\--

After the battle, and after they discovered the necessity to trust each other, Sansa surprised him with an apology. She told Jon she hadn’t meant to belittle the pain her words might have magnified, for she had struggled until then to even breathe without it. “Still,” she’d said, “I knew that you were unwell after your resurrection. I was only thinking of myself. I hope you can forgive me.” Naturally, Jon told her there was nothing to forgive. The exchange laid the air between them barer than any prior conversation. Feeling fresh, hopeful and trusting, Jon and Sansa confided in one another the wounds they had collected since leaving Winterfell. In their sharing, they became a comfort to one another.  

Yet sometimes Jon fell asleep thinking of her words. He carried them in his heart more than he knew—until his parentage was revealed by Lord Baelish’s slippery tongue and he found his mother in the crypts, where’d she’d been hiding in plain sight all along _._ Afterward, it was all he thought of. _Even when we try to do right, we hurt ourselves or worse, the ones we wished to protect._ He said that to Sansa once, in the Godswood, and her eyes welled with tears. “Stop this, right now, Jon. I will not watch you sink into despair.”

“You think I am _despairing_?”

She gave him a look that said, _What are_ _you doing, then?_

He couldn’t reply. Knowing him well enough now, she sat with him before the frozen pool. They listened to the stirring wind and the faint clamoring of life coming from the castle, until snow collected in their ears.

“It is remarkable, how much you have to forgive,” she said at last. “You must give yourself time.”

Jon heeded her advice. He took care to settle into his role as King in the North, and felt stronger in some ways, weaker in others. Most days he didn’t know who he was anymore, so he tried to build someone new as king. Some days he doubted he _ever_ knew. But with time, he learned that below his confusion was unbridled anger.

None but Ned had known of his parentage and the life of lies that was spun for him. Not his mother, not his father—both of whom were dead before his first cry—not even Lady Catelyn. Yet even in their private moments Ned had barely extended the courtesy— _or love—_ Jon had craved so much. It was not enough that he knew why _Father_ never felt quite right on his tongue, for _Uncle_ fared no better.

Those early days, Jon felt more alone than he ever had. He woke with anger in his gut each morning. Soon it rose into his chest, and he felt it with each breath, each heartbeat. When Ghost began to behave erratically, he assuaged his guards’ worry and told himself he would deal with it when he had the time. But with precious few weeks until winter’s arrival, time slipped through his grasp. Jon continued to wake and go to sleep with anger, until everything changed one stormy morning.

He dreamt of a man riding swiftly through the Wolfswood south of Winterfell. The man flicked his horse’s reins with fierce urgency, muttering to the beast to _come on._ But he was startled by an arrow that skimmed his shoulder and cursed to the Old Gods. The horse broke into a plain of white and wind—then suddenly slammed into a snowbank just outside of Winterfell’s gates. With a snap of his neck, he fell from his horse, and Jon watched the head of a grey direwolf tumble from his shoulders. Disturbed, he woke to heavy breaths and clamoring thoughts of Robb Stark.

Even at Castle Black, Jon had heard of the man Robb became when he marched his host southward. He’d even heard of his fabled crown, of which the inscribed runes of the First Men and surmounted nine longswords were most notable. But he was surprised to see his half-brother— _cousin—_ in more detail than he’d ever had in dreams since his death. War had melted all the softness from his face and left him hard and lean. It hurt, yet below a familiar wave of grief, Jon felt comforted to see Robb’s face again. 

He had no more time to think of it. A heavy hand sounded on the door. Noting the snow swirling into his chambers, he slipped his boots on then opened the door, where he revealed a young household guard.

“Your grace…” The boy was shaking. “Guards at the watchtower have spotted a large party just beyond the Wolfswood.”

They hadn’t received any ravens the night before _. An unannounced guest?_ Jon grimaced.

He wasted no time to gather men outside of the gates. Though the snow made it hard to see, they pushed their mounts until they spotted a banner just above the crest of a hill. Red and black was all they could see, leaving them more disquieted.

Could it have been House Blackwood of Raventree Hall, come so far from the Riverlands? Had the Lannisters sent them? He hoped for House Umber of the Last Hearth, for they were Northmen and had sworn fealty to the Starks once more. But they wouldn’t have arrived from the south. _Gods be good,_ Jon thought _. Could it be a host of Bolton bannermen come to take vengeance on our forces?_

His horse skittered so violently he nearly fell from his seat. As he caught the reins a plume of air drew the breath from his lungs then pushed outward, everywhere, to the flapping sound of drying leather. A screech pierced the air—then the world tipped back into nothingness with a _woosh!_ His head tilted back in trepidation and awe as the beast sailed above, large enough to drape itself over the Great Keep. Over there, was another one. And over there, another…

_Dragons._

“What shall we do, your grace?”  

Within three breaths, red and black finally took shape upon the banners, but it was no relief. A three-headed dragon inspired as much fear as the ones sailing in the storm above their heads. 

“Your grace!”

“Be quiet!” Jon commanded. He needed to think. His eyes trained on the figure at the vanguard. The Dragon Queen rode with ease he could see, even from his distance. _Why is she here? More importantly, why did she not send a raven?_ Another screech sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t believe Daenerys Targaryen had arrived to bear gifts to the independent kingdom of the North, unless the gifts were of course, dragonfire.

Jon grimaced again. He’d heard of her cunning, but had not expected to bear witness to it so soon. She had already arrived—with dragons—and so, regardless of her plans, he had to welcome her in. As he ordered his men to return to Winterfell so the household could prepare, he never took his eyes from her.

 _You may have fooled me once, Dragon Queen, but you will not fool me twice._ After all, he was a Stark first, one way or the other. And she had come to Winterfell.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hm... 
> 
> So I think it makes sense. I'm thinking about making Meet Me at Winterfell a series of one-shots, all longer than this little pee wee. It would be divinely strange:
> 
> A love triangle involving two people who should never meet. A crack fic b/c of that. A hurt/comfort fic. Even a resurrection fic b/c Jon has got to see that bod. Plus Whitewalkers. Always, Whitewalkers. Wouldn't be that deep though. Just some fun, and I'd like to explore Jon's relationship (or lack thereof) with the late Ned. Maybe he could finally heal. Mm yes, that would be nice.


End file.
